


the absence of all control exercised by reason

by kathryne



Category: Slings and Arrows
Genre: M/M, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2007
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:02:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1584281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathryne/pseuds/kathryne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Geoffrey and Darren. A four-year Bachelor of Fine Arts in Acting. The very definition of surreal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the absence of all control exercised by reason

**Author's Note:**

  * For [duckgirlie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckgirlie/gifts).



> For duckgirlie, who wanted Geoffrey and Darren in university. All university classes and buildings are real, though they have been shamefully altered for the sake of narrative flow.

_**one.** _

They met because of biology class, oddly enough.

Two weeks into term, Darren still couldn't reliably find his way around the immense, impossibly-designed Biological Sciences building. Trial and error could only get one so far, he discovered as he stopped and stared at the deserted Psychology department, which he had passed three times already that morning.

"I am beginning to wonder," he said out loud to the door, "whether this entire building isn't an intricate maze built to weed out unworthy undergraduates."

Behind him, a door swung open - Geoffrey always did have an impeccable sense of timing - and two other students stepped out of what looked like a janitor's closet. "Well, I certainly hope we're not under observation," the taller of the two said, his curly hair flying as he shook his head, "at least not without being paid. I mean, even if our valuable contribution to scientific inquiry isn't worth anything, surely the show we're putting on is." His grin was toothy and just slightly short of manic, and yet, Darren thought, somehow infectious.

The other boy trotted off with a smirk and a wave, and Darren was left to wonder which would be more worth his while: learning stuff in biology class, or finding out what kind of entertainment his new acquaintance could provide. Fortunately, the decision was made for him.

"You're in my bio lab, aren't you?" the boy asked. "We're going to be late if we don't hurry, and then we'll end up with one of the leftover dissection specimens." He opened the door to the closet again. "After you."

Several responses flitted through Darren's head, mostly witty puns on the word _specimen_. Disappointingly, all that made it from his brain to his mouth was "You've got to be kidding."

"No, no, it's a shortcut. Seriously. Look."

Darren peered closer. Weirdly, the back wall of the closet did seem to be a door. He opened it and walked through, feeling slightly like Alice, but the door led to a corridor, and the corridor led to a flight of stairs, and at the bottom of the stairs was the bio lab.

"Told you so." The boy walked past Darren into the classroom. Darren shrugged and followed.

It turned out there was a mundane explanation, involving duelling architects and, as Geoffrey put it, "the Sixties, obviously." But Darren preferred to remember the day as the perfectly surreal introduction to the rest of his university career.

**

_**two.** _

Two years ago, the clown and mask workshop had started out being run out of the instructor's backyard. This year it was finally taking place inside a university building. Of the twelve people standing in the Fine Arts building waiting for the room to open, eleven were thrilled to be there. One had been signed up by his roommate, whom he was never going to trust with his registration codes ever again.

"Remind me again why I'm interested in clowns?" Darren hissed in Geoffrey's ear. "Since I live with one already?"

Geoffrey rolled his eyes expressively. "Just... think of it as a thematic extension of _commedia dell'arte_ or something."

"Technically, only one of the _commedia_ characters is a clown," Darren pointed out, annoyed enough to nitpick.

"For fuck's sake, we get to spend six weeks playing with clay for class credit," Geoffrey snapped. "Can't you get over your theory hard-on and just enjoy?"

Darren was silent for a moment.

"Hey, Geoffrey. You know our final projects in fourth year?"

"Yeah," Geoffrey said warily.

"You know your Mercutio?"

"Yeaaaah?"

"Just for that," Darren said smugly, "I'm putting you in an _Il Capitano_ mask. Maybe for the Queen Mab speech. I don't know yet. But just you wait."

Geoffrey whimpered pitifully. Before he could retort, the doors opened and the class filed in.

"Aw," Darren whispered, "looks like someone's more joey than auguste." He smirked; he was enjoying this clowning thing already.

**

**_three._ **

_If your show is selected from the lottery, the Fringe Theatre Festival will attempt to allocate performance spaces based on technical requirements. Please indicate which if any of the following elements your show will include and the Fringe Theatre Festival will do our best to accommodate you._

Large cast.

"Oooh, yeah. That way we'll get nice dressing rooms. If anyone gives us shit, we'll say the rest of the cast quit last-minute and we had to turn it into a two-man show."

_Fire._

"Every play can be improved by flames, Geoffrey, especially but not only those about hellfire and damnation. There is a fine line to be walked between cliché and creative genius."

_Water._

"Aside from the buckets we'll keep in the wings for when your fire machine tries to kill us all? Yeah, why not, maybe we can stick in a symbolic wading pool or something."

"A symbolic representation of the mirror-self. Lacan would approve."

"...Right."

_Food._

"No food on stage. Someone always chokes, and then I have to remember how to do the Heimlich, and then you puke all over the place, and the audience doesn't know whether it's part of the show or not, and we get a reputation, and that's just bad."

"That only happened once, and it was first year."

"Yeah, well, you know what else? You put your favourite food in the script, and you eat it five times a week, at rehearsal, at home when you're trying to get into the mood to write, you know what happens? Opening rolls around and suddenly the sight of it makes you sick. Before you know it we have the puke problem again. Save it for the afterparty."

"Fine, I'll check 'no.' That might cost us the good theatres, though."

"I think your desire for flamethrowers pretty much guarantees us a large, well-ventilated stage. Don't worry so much. Live and let fringe."

**

**_four._ **

"I still can't believe I let you talk me into this," Geoffrey said, frowning down at Darren.

" _I_ still can't believe you let me talk you into this. Anyways, everyone else is going to be painted too, you know. It's not like you're going to stand out that much," Darren replied. "Now stop talking, you're wiggling, and I have to get this line right."

"I'm not wiggling, I just happen to be very sensitive in that particular area," Geoffrey said with considerable dignity.

"Whatever. If I mess this up, I have to break out the rubbing alcohol to clean it off, and you know how cold that is. It would be an unfortunate start to the run. I wouldn't want you to get bad reviews."

"Fine, I'm holding still." Geoffrey sighed the sigh of an aggrieved martyr. "Have I told you recently that I think you're insane?" he said conversationally.

"Mmm, yes, but don't let that stop you," Darren said absently, concentrating on a tricky bit of outlining.

"You know, intellectually, I find the idea of theatre in the dark quite stimulating," Geoffrey continued. "I think it'll work particularly well for Shakespeare - the near-total dark will force the audience to concentrate on the text more closely. And you're certainly saving money on sets. What I don't understand -" Geoffrey's voice rose in pitch "- is why the department approved of you turning around and spending that saved money on glow-in-the-dark paint!"

"I told you," Darren said calmly. "The darkness reflects the confusion that affects all the residents of the city. And the glow paint is very moving. It's bright and fresh at the beginning of the play, when Romeo and Juliet are young and stupidly full of hope, then it fades over time until their deaths. A crude metaphor, but effective. And it's not going to be completely dark. The flames should give you more than enough light to hit your marks. Everyone else has paint on to some degree, so stop being such a baby."

"Darren." Geoffrey's voice was dangerously flat. "Everyone else has clothes. I have bright orange glow-in-the-dark paint covering every inch of my body except my penis."

Darren nodded. "It emphasizes what's _not_ there in Mercutio's speeches - the sexual references the underscore the entire text," he explained. Again.

He carefully touched up the edges on his paint job, then stood back and admired his handiwork. "That's you done," he said cheerfully. "Places!" He waited until Geoffrey had taken a few steps away before he called out, "Oh, break a leg! Just... not the little one."

"I'll get you for this, Nichols," Geoffrey yelled back.

Darren smiled delightedly. That energy would make Mercutio _snap_ on stage. Everything was going perfectly! Except, wait. Why was Geoffrey coming back? "Now what?" he snapped.

"Um, Darren." Geoffrey was unusually reserved. "Did you ever check to see if this paint was non-flammable?"

Darren's face fell.

 


End file.
